


Doubling Up

by Gamebird



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-06 21:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamebird/pseuds/Gamebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel learns Eli's cloning ability, but it doesn't work quite as expected. Roughly set in Shattered Salvation verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Double Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threesome porn with chocolate syrup. Mmm!

**Title:** Double Duty  
 **Characters:** Gabriel (starring as Gabe and Sylar) / Peter Petrelli  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** Mild food sex, explicit sexual content  
 **Word count:** ~4,600  
 **Setting:** Shattered Salvation, well beyond where I've published to date. All you really need to know though is that Gabriel and Peter are married and in the context of a long-term relationship. That, and they've been helping each other work out their problems, which includes novel approaches to sating the Hunger.  
 **Notes:** This is a gift to Vivihanna, written to her prompt, "Sylar/Peter/Gabriel three-way story. Something naughty but sweet and perhaps some doubt in the beginning from Gabriel because he's so shy. Oh, maybe Gabriel watches the other two first. … doppelgangers … and something to do with food! Whip cream, chocolate syrup, and perhaps other assorted toppings!"

\---------------

Gabe didn't know how he was going to manage this or if it was even going to work. Uncertainty was rife. It was usually so much easier to hold down his fears, dismiss them, be rational and distant and removed. But this new way of being threw everything to the forefront of his mind and broke down his ability to ignore and partition. He squirted twice as much chocolate syrup as he needed to into his milk, trying ignore the prying eyes of the man leaning on the door frame of the kitchen. _Do I really look like that when I glare at people? That's really rude._

"You just need to relax," Sylar told him.

"That's easy for you to say!" Gabe snapped back irritably. He stirred his drink faster than necessary, but was still careful enough not to slosh any out. Chocolate milk had always been a soothing treat after he'd moved out into his own apartment and was at liberty to buy such an indulgence. At the moment, he needed it. His nerves felt like a bag of nails, sharp ends poking him at every turn. "He'll be here any minute."

"So?"

"So we shouldn't be doing this! He's already sensitive about shape-shifting. What if this freaks him out?" Sylar had flatly refused to reverse the process, which was problematic because apparently it was going to take the cooperation of both.

Sylar shrugged, walking into the kitchen to snag the bottle of syrup before Gabe put it away. "He'll deal with it. He's not nearly as fragile as you think he is."

"He's not nearly as _tough_ as _you_ think he is, either!"

They both heard the dull pop that signaled Peter's arrival via teleportation. Gabe stared at the kitchen doorway, terrified at what this might mean. _What do I do if he freaks out?_ Acting overly casual, Sylar used his thumb to flip open the squeeze bottle and poured a shot of courage directly in his mouth - fuck the milk.

"You are **_so_** gross," Gabe complained.

Peter came to the entry to the kitchen and arrested, eyes flicking between the two of them. He'd known the plan for the day and even, after it was explained to him, helped set it up. More than that, when he got a call from work that morning to fill in on his day off for a sick coworker, he'd asked Gabriel if he could handle the procedure on his own. Floored by the degree of trust that showed, Gabriel had said yes and Peter had gone to work, leaving Gabriel to deal with Eli by himself. Obviously the result had not been quite what any of them had expected.

"So … uh …" Peter started, paused and then resumed with the obvious question, "how's Eli?"

There was a long moment of silence as Gabe waited for Sylar to tell him and Sylar waited for Gabe to do it. In the meantime, Peter got tense. Gabe broke first, but he was vague. "He's fine," he said sulkily. He wanted to be bitchy that Peter obviously cared about Eli, a relative stranger, more than himself, but it _was_ an obvious question. And besides, Peter probably didn't realize the differences between the current manifestation of the cloning power and what Eli did.

"'Fine' fine?" Peter asked, unsure of how to be delicate about asking 'You didn't kill him, did you?'

Sylar answered, "Yes, he's _perfectly_ fine. Nothing to worry about."

Peter looked between the two of them several times as he began to put two and two together. They looked very different. Sylar was in faded, worn jeans with a short-sleeved, loudly-colored plaid shirt that had the top three buttons undone. His thick, curly chest hair was peaking out in a display of unabashedly masculine virility. He was wearing sneakers. His hair was short and spiked. Gabe also displayed his love of hair gel, but his hair was longer and ruthlessly slicked back, not a strand out of place. He was wearing a sedate, long-sleeved, light green dress shirt with a darker green, patterned sweater vest over it, black slacks and dress shoes. He also had on those nerdy glasses that Peter so loved. Sylar looked taller, because he naturally stood straighter. Gabe was slouching uneasily next to the counter.

"So, which one of you is the … primary?" Peter asked. When Eli used his power, all his clones were identical. Peter knew that. He'd been there for the initial interview with Eli where they'd worked out all the logistics and remuneration for his permission. Sylar and Gabe were _different_ , not only in appearance, but in how they moved and acted.

"He is," they both answered in unison, each indicating the other.

Peter's face screwed up in confusion. "How is it that neither one of you is lying?" he asked, mostly of himself.

Sylar snorted and upended the syrup bottle for another squirt. He wasn't going to admit to his own uneasiness, but his actions gave it away as far as Gabe was concerned.

"Stop that!" Gabe chided him a second time. "Other people in this household have to use that! I don't want anything your _mouth_ has been on. It's disgusting." He knew he sounded just like his mother, Virginia, but … well, on this she had a point. Sylar was being very rude. People shouldn't slurp out of bottles.

Sylar smirked. "You don't want anything my _mouth_ has been on, do you? Well, that's good for me." Bottle still in hand, he sauntered over to Peter, who pulled back against the doorframe and looked up at the other man. It wasn't an unwelcoming expression, but Peter was clearly still trying to work out what was up. Sylar tipped the bottle to ooze out just a little dark syrup on his index finger and then raised it to Peter's lips. Peter looked from it to Sylar's face, letting Sylar finger-paint it onto his mouth. Sylar leered briefly at Gabe and then leaned in to slowly lick the sweet stuff from Peter's lips. Peter looked nervously between the two of them, bringing up a hand to touch Sylar on the side uncertainly. But he definitely wasn't turning him away.

Gabe steamed, but behind the anger was fear. _Can Peter handle this? Can **I**_ _handle it? We need to **talk**_ _about this, not … whatever he's doing._ As he stood there and did nothing, he saw Peter relax and run his hand lightly up and down Sylar's side as Sylar deepened the kiss. _He's responding. Peter's responding to **him**_ _. What if he likes him more than me? Well … why wouldn't he like him more than me? I'm nobody. I'm just an extra, a byproduct. I'm not sexy like **he**_ _is._

Sylar groaned slightly and leaned forward to press his body against Peter's in a slow grind. Gabe caught a shadow of the feeling of that motion, because there was no way he could ignore what his duplicate was doing. There would be no cutting himself off from this and pretending it wasn't happening. He'd feel whatever they did as a phantom sensation. His penis felt itchy and uncomfortable in his slacks as it tried to rise in sympathy with the hardness he knew was growing in Sylar's jeans. Jealousy and possessiveness and worthlessness shot through him. He wanted to peel Sylar off of Peter and pummel him into the wall.

Snarling, he walked over and jerked Sylar back by his shoulder. "Get away from him! He doesn't want this. You're forcing yourself on him!"

Peter's voice was husky with arousal as he said, "It's okay." He still looked uncertain. Another thing about Eli's clones - they didn't argue with the primary or fight with each other any more than one's hands disagreed with what the mind told them to do. Such automatic obedience wasn't a trait that either Gabe or Sylar had at the moment.

Sylar gave him another of those oh-so-annoying smirks. He wrapped his fist into Peter's shirt and grinned. "Bedroom," he said, dragging Peter with him. Not that Peter was objecting, but he did at least look a little thrown by the situation. He looked over his shoulder twice at Gabe as he was pulled through the living room and into the bedroom. Gabe followed at a distance, wondering if he should save Peter and make Sylar cut it out, or what. Sylar shoved Peter on the bed roughly. "Clothes off." He set down the bottle of syrup on the nightstand and began his own undressing.

Peter started unbuttoning his shirt. "Ah … Gabriel?" Neither of them responded.

Gabe hovered uncertainly at the door. "You don't have to do this, Peter."

Sylar laughed. "Go drink your chocolate milk, Gabe. Grown-ups are going to do grown-up things. Jerk yourself off in a corner somewhere if you have to."

"Hey," Peter said, "that's uncalled for." He'd peeled off his shirt, but hesitated on his pants.

"Fuck him," Sylar snapped. "You want **me** , not him. He's a temperamental little mommy's boy who can't get past his own inhibitions and actually enjoy himself. You like me better in bed, Peter. All of us know it." Sylar shoved his jeans down.

Brows pulling together, Peter got off the bed and started to go to Gabe, who had backed off a few steps at Sylar's harsh, but probably true, words.

His feet still tangled in his jeans, Sylar couldn't stop Peter physically, so he resorted to telekinesis, jerking him back onto the bed. Peter yelped and flailed, a disturbed sound that brought Gabe fully into the scene to protect him.

"Stop it!" Gabe yelled, shoving Sylar over. It would have been much more satisfying to see Sylar sprawl on his ass, but he caught himself with flight instead and hovered, finally managing to kick his jeans off while Gabe went to Peter. "Are you okay? You don't have to do this," Gabe said, repeating his comment from earlier.

Peter said, "Hey, are **you** okay with it? What's going on here?" He reached up and touched Gabe's forearm, letting his hand slide down the limb to take Gabe's hand at the end and give it a squeeze.

Gabe explained a little. "Things didn't work out right. Eli's okay, but we can only make one duplicate and it's not really … a duplicate, exactly. I don't think it worked right."

Sylar came up behind him. "It worked fine for what it was. If we'd done Eli himself rather than one of his clones, then we'd have gotten the full power. Instead …" He grinned. "Well, this certainly has potential." He shoved Gabe onto the bed. Gabe fell, turned and scrambled backwards, still fully clothed. Sylar was fully naked. Peter was caught in the middle.

Peter said firmly, "I'm not doing this unless everyone is in agreement." He looked between the pair. "That's final."

Sylar scoffed. "All you want is deniability, Peter. Don't worry about it. No matter how much you kick him, he'll still follow you around like a puppy." He reached down and grabbed Peter's hair like he was deliberately trying to provoke him.

It was working. Peter jerked back, forcing Sylar to decide between yanking his hair out or letting go. He opted for letting go. Gabe jumped forward, awkwardly inserting himself between them. "Leave him alone! You're the asshole who keeps hurting him! You're _obsessed_!"

"We're both obsessed," Sylar observed.

Gabe opened his mouth to argue, but stumbled on the words because Sylar had agreed with him. _Maybe we both need to stay away from Peter. For his own good. He doesn't really want either of us. We're too clingy, too aggressive, never right ..._ Then Peter's hands were on Gabe's back and shoulders, the first time he'd willingly touched him. Gabe pulled in air, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

"It's okay," Peter said softly. "It's okay. I get it now. I love you both. _Both_ of you. I'm not picking one over the other." He rubbed gently, looking up over Gabe's shoulder at Sylar, who was standing at the edge of the bed, watching silently for the moment.

"You … but," Gabe tried, "you don't want me."

"Yes, _I do_ ," Peter argued gently, scooting to put himself behind Gabe where he could kiss him on the ear and then the cheek, still looking up at Sylar. "I've always wanted you." He kissed him again, delicately removing the nerdy glasses to press his lips again Gabe's temple. Peter shot Sylar a look and a quick dart of his eyes at Gabe. Sylar pouted his lips in thought and then arched his brows briefly in a 'sure, why not?' expression.

Sylar reached out and touched Gabe on the opposite cheek. Gabe tried to pull away, but found it awkward with Peter holding him from behind. "What are you doing?" he asked Sylar.

"Learning to love myself, apparently," Sylar quipped. "Now hold still." He took away the glasses and set them on the nightstand before returning to run his fingers gently across Gabe's face.

Gabe looked up at his alter in surprise, not sure how to take the caresses he was getting. Peter kept lipping and kissing along the other side of his face, the empath's hands starting to stray from Gabe's shoulders to wrap around his chest. They drifted lower, pulling his shirt from his slacks and exploring the warm, bare skin underneath. Gabe whimpered, staring up into the dark, smoldering eyes of … himself. Sort of. He'd done something like this a long time ago, and well before that was Candace's offer. His eyes dropped to Sylar's swollen cock, wondering what it tasted like and if he would be forced to find out. He hadn't done that before.

Boldly, Sylar ran his hand into Gabe's hair and gripped, tugging his head back and provoking another whimper, this time accompanied by a surge of arousal. Peter made a sound as well, feeling the lust. He pushed up Gabe's shirt and sweater to his armpits, baring skin to run his greedy, searching hands across. Sylar pulled Gabe forward and down to where his face was even with Sylar's groin, doubling him over.

Gabe struggled weakly, overwhelmed by the sensations and memories he was usually able to deny the existence of so well that he hardly realized they'd happened. He'd begun to realize that just as his 'father' Martin had few memories of Gabriel's childhood, that attempts had been made to suppress and alter Gabriel's as well. They were still there, though, gradually recovered through regeneration. Peter chewing along his spine wasn't helping his thought process any. Gabe could smell the musky, masculine scent of Sylar's body, pubic hair scratching and tickling against his cheek. "That's sick … no …"

"Get me hard, boy," Sylar commanded, playing out roles from long ago. Peter glanced up in worry, not sure what he was seeing here and probably feeling a lot of deeply buried things being trotted out for examination. Sylar shoved his hips forward, tugging Gabe's mouth onto him. Clumsily, Gabe began to fellate him. Sylar, knowing what was expected, wrapped his free hand around the back of Gabe's neck, squeezing with each bob and motion of Gabe's head. He locked eyes with Peter, who looked apprehensive. "Only I can do this to him. You ever try it and I will bite your dick off."

"Got it," Peter said immediately. He was still holding still, hands frozen on Gabe's back.

"Don't you dare back away from this, Peter," Sylar told him. Peter gave him a single nod, looked down at Gabe, and lowered his head to kiss his back again.

Gabe whimpered, sucking inexpertly at flesh that tasted so familiar, feeling it harden and stiffen in his mouth and start to choke him. He wrapped his hands around Sylar's legs timidly. He'd never been allowed to touch as a boy - not that he'd ever wanted to. But this wasn't the same. This wasn't the storage room in the back of the watch shop. This wasn't his 'uncle' or what he'd thought was his father. This was … Sylar. In a way, it was his own twisted desire to expunge the darkness by mastering it. He let his hands slowly slide up to Sylar's ass and dug his fingers in as he gagged himself on his doppelganger's dick, feeling his own arousal surge and burn within him. He groaned as Peter's nails raked down his chest.

"Oh, yeah," Sylar breathed, pulling him off roughly. "Fucking greedy for it, aren't you, boy?" He pushed him back. "Get your pants down."

Gabe started to obey, but Peter was taking the opportunity to pull his sweater and shirt off over his head, or at least trying to. The buttons caught around his neck and it wouldn't come off. Peter started giggling, which really wasn't the reaction you wanted from your partner in bed. Peter tugged, Gabe struggled to figure out how to unbutton it with telekinesis, and Sylar reached in to neatly slice the fabric from collar to hem. "We'll fix it later," Sylar said, yanking the troublesome cloth out of the way.

As Gabe turned to shuck off his pants, Peter did the same with his own. When he turned back, Peter was on his back on the bed. Gabe went to him, crouching between Peter's legs and for the moment ignoring Sylar. He wasn't quite ready for what Sylar was probably going to do to him, despite the hardness of his erection and the tingling of his skin. He wanted to be genuinely loved, not just used. He'd liked touching Sylar. More than that, though, he wanted to touch Peter. He stroked Peter's knee tentatively. "You want me?"

"Oh yeah," Peter asserted. He looked over at the nightstand and summoned the syrup to his hand. He popped open the cap. "Help me out here, baby." He upended it to let the dark liquid dribble out across his fairly hairless chest and abdomen.

"You're making a mess!" Gabe exclaimed, equally fascinated and disturbed.

"Then clean it up," Sylar said, now taking Gabe's head and forcing him down on Peter's belly, climbing up behind him. Worry crossed Peter's face, but Gabe began lapping at it, submitting to the handling. Sylar cupped his body behind Gabe's, a warm line of skin that made him shiver. He licked at the chocolate, sucking and chewing, his anticipation of being fucked driving him crazy. He knew what Sylar intended to do, but Sylar apparently had caught that Gabe wasn't there yet. He released Gabe's hair in favor of stroking his back and fondling his ass. Peter took over in front, caressing Gabe's face and combing his now haphazardly tousled hair back out of the syrup.

Gabe licked his way upwards, following the trail of rich chocolate while Peter squirmed and made appreciative noises. He could feel the heat from Peter's erection between them, too, and he paused to suck at a nipple, swirling his tongue around it and nibbling. "Ah!" he said abruptly as Sylar spread his cheeks and pressed a finger wet with saliva against him. Gabe shuddered, falling forward a little as he was breached none-too-gently. Chocolate smeared on his cheek and brow, but the feeling of a finger probing inside him while Peter's nails dug into his scalp distracted him from the mess. Sylar's dick was dripping precome onto the back of his thigh, which was so fucking dirty that he whined at that alone.

Peter pulled him up and Sylar's intrusive, questing finger followed, making Gabe wriggle and mewl. Peter glanced at his countenance and grinned, then licked the side of his face, cleaning him like a cat with a kitten. Sylar added a second finger and Gabe gasped, barely holding himself up while Peter worked his face. He had no idea how he was going to manage getting fucked like this. He was about to pop as it was. Peter paused from sucking on his eyebrow of all things to tell him, "I want you to fuck me."

"What?" he said dumbly. Sylar turned his fingers and stroked downward across his prostate. As if on cue, Gabe said, "Oh yes! Oh!" and quivered.

Peter grinned and raised a foot to nudge Sylar. "Lube!"

"Use the syrup," Sylar told him.

"It's too sticky. Get lube," Peter reiterated.

There was a moment of silence before Sylar asked, "How do you know it's too sticky for sex?"

"Because I _know_ , asshole. **_Lube_** ," Peter demanded, poking him again with his foot. Sylar grumbled and procured it from the nightstand via telekinesis without having to leave his position. Peter took advantage of the pause to heft the aforementioned syrup and squirt it crazily across Gabe's back.

"What? What are you doing?" Gabe said in response to the coolness across his skin and the burbling noise from the squirt bottle.

"Giving Sylar a treat." Peter capped the bottle and threw it out of the way, taking the open lube container Sylar offered.

"You have such wonderful taste, Peter," Sylar murmured, leaning over Gabe while his fingers still worked his ass. "Thank you." He licked a long, hot line along Gabe's back. Peter's hand slipped between them to slick up Gabe's penis and then himself. Coming back, he pumped slowly at Gabe's member.

"Oh God," Gabe whimpered, putting his forehead down on Peter's shoulder. "I can't … I can't … I won't be able to …"

"I don't care what you want," Sylar growled. "You won't come from this. That would show you were enjoying it, and we can't have that, can we? That would be perverted …" He backed up a little, pulling his fingers out suddenly. Gabe yelped. Peter lined him up for entry, with the empath shifting his own hips up. Sylar continued, "Disgusting …" Gabe shivered. He could feel Peter pressing his tip against the opening just as Sylar was doing the same to Gabe's asshole. "Sick!" Sylar said, shoving inside in one long, painful, barely-lubricated stroke, driving Gabe forward and into Peter, feeling Peter's heat envelope his penis, his tightness snug and slippery at the same time.

"OH!" Gabe cried out, shuddering right on the brink of release.

Clearly knowing that, Sylar grabbed his hair, twisted it and yanked so hard he saw stars. " _Not yet!_ " he hissed.

"I can't, I can't, I can't," Gabe whined, clinging to the pain as the only way to hold off coming right this instant.

"You **_can_** ," Sylar asserted. He shoved into Gabe, pressing him even more tightly against Peter, who moaned as he held Gabe's shoulders. "You **_will!_** I am going to **_fuck_** you as long as I need to, boy! Whenever I want, as long as I want, and you will never say anything to anyone about it. You won't even _think_ about this. **_Ever_**. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Gabe whimpered. He was rock hard. He was fully inserted. His scalp hurt from where Sylar was still pulling his hair, arcing him backwards while he forced himself inside of Gabe's tight hole over and over again. His whole body was on fire. Peter's hands dropped from Gabe's shoulders to caress his chest and then Peter began to work his own aching cock with one hand. Gabe was too far gone to adequately service his partner, which made him feel guilty. Oh yes, so guilty. Guilty for enjoying it. Guilty for his body responding to Sylar's relentless, powerful thrusts and tugs at his hair, bruising fingers burying themselves in his shoulder or hip, yanking him back into the vigor of the motions. Sylar knew _exactly_ what he wanted and needed and was giving it to him ruthlessly. Fucking Peter was just an afterthought.

Peter got that and to his credit, didn't seem to mind in the least. He wrapped his legs around both of them as much as he could and rocked himself up into Gabe's dick in time with Sylar's thrusts. Peter's asshole clenching around Gabe's shaft was better than any reach-around ever would be. Gabe was so grateful to have Peter. He put his hands on either side of Peter on the bed as Sylar let go of his hair to better manhandle his hips, and let himself be fucked on both sides; his consciousness a wash of endorphins and arousal, needy, desperate hands on his flesh; a foreign, violating presence opening him from behind, inside of him, plowing him, degrading him. He breathed hard, barely hanging on.

Peter was moaning wantonly, expressing everything Gabe wanted to about the situation. _Little slut_ , he managed to think, watching as Peter's mouth gaped open and pulled to the side, nearly there with his orgasm. Sylar was close, too, ramming into him even harder with short, powerful bucks that jogged Gabe and Peter both. Peter's hand shuffled in a quick tempo against his stomach, stopping only when he cried out, filled and fulfilled, spurting onto himself.

Sylar didn't have to tell Gabe he had permission to let go, assuming that was even part of the game (assuming this _was_ a game). Gabe lowered himself down against Peter, letting himself have full body contact. He felt the ejaculate smear against his own stomach and reveled in it. **_He_** had done to that to Peter. Fucking **_him_** had made Peter come. Peter hugged him, whimpering at the continuing thrusts, accepting them into himself. Peter kissed Gabe's neck and murmured, "I love you, I love you, I love you," over and over as he got the breath to say it.

Gabe took over the pattern of fucking briefly from Sylar to push inside of Peter as deeply as possible, provoking more and louder sensuous moans. Peter clutched him, riding through his aftershocks, eyes rolling up in his head. Gabe released within him, gasping and shaking. Sylar came simultaneous with him, a strange side effect of the duality that Gabe dimly recognized. Barely able to sense anything other than his own blinding culmination, he collapsed on Peter, who was more than willing to bear him.

A moment later, there was just one of him. Gabriel pushed himself up a little, looking down at Peter uncertainly. Peter glanced around the room and then asked, "Gabriel?"

"Yeah," he chuffed out, flopping over to the side. He hoped he was being considerate by not lying on top of Peter too much. He felt boneless, dirty and deeply, deeply perverted. _Oh my God, I just fucked myself. Again. With Peter … like … watching. Participating. Whatever_. He looked over at Peter, trying to gauge how his husband had been affected by the whole thing.

"Next time, I get to be in the middle," Peter said, which certainly answered _that_.


	2. Double Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel tries again to get this new cloning ability to work 'right'.

Peter had left for work. Gabriel knew he, too, should theoretically be heading home soon to see Heidi, but he wanted to play around with his newest acquisition a little more: cloning. It hadn't gone like he'd expected, but he thought he could control the division if, perhaps, he just concentrated on it a little more. He settled himself in the middle of the couch and focused on the ability. Previously, it had divided him into two facets of his personality. He wasn't thrilled with that, but it had been manageable. Still, he'd rather have it create an obedient drone like Eli's power, where he didn't have to worry about his clone having a mind of its own.

Gabriel thought about his identity. He thought about who he was and how he saw himself. He pulled together everything that had split before, into Gabe and Sylar. He ran his thoughts over those two personalities several times. Holding tight to that mental image, he activated the ability and felt something deep within himself pull and stretch like taffy, shredding a little painfully at the ends before separating with a pop of relief like a release of sinus pressure.

He blinked his eyes open, having not been aware they'd even shut. He was sitting a foot or two to the left of where he'd been earlier. To his right was his … He stared at the person on his right.  _Fuck me_. Looking back at him, very warily, was none other than one Nathan Petrelli.  _Jesus fucking Christ. Seriously, just fuck me now._  Nervous, he shifted slightly. Obviously though, he wasn't the only one unhappy with developments, as the tiny motion caused Nathan to surge up off the couch. Not to be outdone, Sylar followed a half-beat behind. Nathan staggered back from him, looking like he expected to be attacked at any moment.

 _Shit! Shit, shit, shit. Does he have my memories? Does he have my abilities? Or does he only remember me as the guy who killed him?_ Sylar balled his fists, keeping them tightly at his sides so as to not make any motion Nathan would interpret as a threat.  _How the hell am I going to get him to merge with me again?_  Sylar blinked as a thought struck him.  _Wait … do I …_ _ **want**_ _him to merge with me again?_

Nathan looked over at the door hopefully, then back to Sylar with wariness. Edging further away, he started towards the way out.

Despite his thoughts, Sylar wasn't interested in letting Nathan get away and thereby limit his options.  _Where does he think he's going? I'm not done with you yet!_ He raised his hand now, seizing Nathan with telekinesis just as the man reached for the doorknob. A second later the power vanished as it was nullified. Nathan turned to face him, eyes blazing with hate.  _Well, that answers whether he has my abilities. Thief. I worked really hard to get those. He doesn't deserve them._  In that fraction of a second of thought, Nathan raised his hand, fingers curled yet palm towards him, and made a jab towards Sylar with the heel of his hand.  _What's that gesture? That's not the way I-_ Sylar was shoved back forcefully into the shelf set as Nathan whirled away and pulled open the door.

Sylar started to scramble up as something heavy fell from the very top of the shelves. He had a snap decision to make – stop Nathan, or grab the object. Having a good idea of what that heavy thing was, he snatched it out of the air with telekinesis a scant two inches from the floor. Books rained down around him as he stood, whacking him and endangering his focus, but he stayed fixed on keeping the precious, battered mantel clock from taking any further damage. The old timepiece meant a lot to him. He set it to the side on the couch, relieved it was basically unharmed, and hurried to the hall. As he'd expected though, it was empty. The window at the end was open, blinds rattling in the sudden breeze as testament to Nathan's speedy departure.  _Damnit!_

He stalked back into the apartment and stood quietly, thinking.  _Where would he_ _ **go**_ _?_ He combed through Nathan's memories - useful things - he was glad he had them but it only confirmed that Nathan had a complete copy of his own as well.  _He'd go to Heidi, Peter, Angela, or to sulk somewhere. His best sulking spots are that bridge or his old office – the bridge is out because it's daylight and the office doesn't belong to … me, him, us, whatever, anymore. Angela – he probably won't go there. So Heidi or Peter. He always went to Peter when he had trouble._

Sylar pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial. He stared at the device, his brows pulling together slightly.  _Speed dial. I have_ _ **Peter Petrelli**_ _on my speed dial?_  He heard it ring once, twice, a third time, and he hung up.  _Why am I calling_ _ **Peter Petrelli**_ _?_  He cocked his head in curiosity at his own action, feeling a bit of vertigo as his perspective on the entire world shifted and changed.  _I'm_ _ **Sylar**_ _, not that person who I was before the split. Why would I go to Peter?_

 _What … should I do with my life? Why should I care what Nathan is doing?_  He slid the phone back in his pocket, ignoring the call coming in even though he recognized the ring tone as Peter's. No one else on his phone had an orchestral version of the 'Greatest American Hero' ring tone. He absently made a mental note to get that sappy crap off his phone at the earliest opportunity.

 _Let Peter have his brother back. This might be the answer I've been looking for. He can have Nathan and I can have … who? No one. There's no one for me. I … I …_ The thought of being utterly alone - no mom, no clock shop, no quest for powers driving him on, no job, no place in the world - it left him cold, frozen to the spot. He hadn't had an empty bed in over a year and that was something he cherished. If he left, he would have nothing. Nothing but a bunch of powers and a hollowness inside.

Peter teleported into the living room, startling him a little, even though he showed it only with a widening of his eyes and snapping his head around. Teeth set together and just a sliver of them showing between his slightly parted lips, Sylar eyed the man who was still in street clothes, having not yet changed into his paramedic uniform at work. He didn't bother to ask why Peter had come back.  _Well … I_ _ **did**_ _call him._ He snorted disdainfully, looking for something else in the room to look at. His gaze fell on the old mantel clock.

"What happened?" Peter said, looking at the ruined shelving unit with the books in scattered disarray around it.

Sylar picked up the mantel clock and retired with it to the nearly table. He took a seat, frowning to himself, not sure how or if he should explain.

"Gabriel?"

He looked up at Peter balefully, shook his head mutely, and set himself to unscrewing the backing of the clock. It wasn't running. The sudden shift of falling, the changed angle and trajectory, had created enough momentum to knock the delicate pendulum mechanism askew. It would be a simple fix and he could do it from memory with simple telekinesis, but he liked this old clock. He wanted to put his hands on it as he had so many times as a boy. This was one of the four clocks he'd taken apart and reassembled over and over to learn his trade. He'd been ecstatic to find it months before and doubted it was the real thing - psychometry had assured him it was the genuine article. He'd rescued it from the antique store he'd tracked it to and put it in a place of honor in the apartment.  _My apartment? Our apartment? His?_ He glanced furtively at Peter.

"Sylar?" Peter asked softly.

Sylar sighed and shook his head in denial again, even though he felt that asking for an explanation was hardly out of line. Peter had stood by him through a lot. Sylar recognized that even if the person Peter had supported wasn't exactly who he was now. Still … Peter was a powerful man. There was no reason to make an enemy of him. He'd seen how that turned out before, anyway.  _Maybe we could stay … friends?_  "I used cloning again and-"

Sylar stopped talking abruptly. His eyes had risen to Peter's face. He was struck dumb by the realization that he'd kissed those lips. Over and over and over again.  _TMI. Oh my fucking God, TMI._  He had memories of touching that face. He could recall doing it lovingly, tenderly, and softly, in wondering exploration. He remembered the feel of the back of Peter's neck, the texture of his hair, the smooth, rounded shape of his naked shoulder … and other things. He knew things about Peter he had no right or desire to know, but they were there, branded into his brain so firmly that even as the person he was now, his first instinct, just like Nathan's, had been to call Peter.  _Good God, we fucked just yesterday!_

 _I'm … I'm not … I'm not gay. Does he think I'm still his husband?_ Sylar's eyes widened in growing horror.  _If he has Nathan as his brother, is he going to expect to have me as his … No. Just no. We could … friends. Right - friends. He's said it could be platonic before. But what the hell would I_ _ **do**_ _? I suppose I could work for the Company._ But being a director seemed out. He didn't think anyone in their right mind would trust him. He certainly wouldn't. He didn't think he would be able to hack the position. He had a good idea of how much of his competence as a director was due to Nathan's personality traits and leadership skills - things that, well, had gone off with Nathan out the window down the hall. He swallowed roughly.

"Okay," Peter said acceptingly. "Is there anything I can do?" He started forward and Sylar jerked back.

"Don't touch me! I'm not …" Sylar realized he sounded a little too stressed there, maybe even on the edge of hysteria. He trusted Peter - they weren't enemies or strangers. But he had no desire to fill the role of lover in Peter's life. Peter stopped. Sylar took a deep breath and let it out, forcing his voice back to normal. "Yes," he muttered. "An explanation. I'm not your husband. Um … I'm … not into men."

Peter blinked a few times, but his expression stayed surprisingly neutral. Kind, even. He moved to the other side of the table and pulled out the chair, taking a seat.

Sylar relaxed a little. Maybe this would be okay. Maybe he could figure something out. In the meanwhile, he worked at the clock in order to have something purposeful to do, so he didn't look as lost and unsettled as he felt. He finished opening the casing, tilting it up to take a look inside. It was out of balance; there was no other damage. It would be easily fixed. He set it back down. Peter's obvious concern for him was annoying. It made him feel obligated and hemmed in, smothered by too much attention.  _Go away, Peter. I didn't ask you to come here_. "You have your brother back," he said, lowering himself so he could see what he was doing as he reached inside the clock.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"There's me. And there's Nathan. The ability divided us." He reattached the mechanism and took a moment to summon a few memories of him as a kid. He'd had his problems then, too, but the window into the past was still interesting. He'd been learning something here, with this clock - a trade, how to fix things, how things affected one another. He gave it a push to get it going and was pleased to hear the  _tick-tick-tick_  start up, even and sure. He smiled up at Peter with an innocent pleasure at that. A moment later, as the smile faded slowly, he thought about how regardless of who he was, he still felt that he was safe to share that with this man.

"Sylar," Peter said, his voice a little deeper than usual and that caught Sylar's attention, "Nathan … is dead. He passed away two years ago." Peter sighed, having had his own emotional response that Sylar really hadn't paid attention to until now. Sylar wasn't sure what to do with it, so he sat there quietly and listened as Peter continued with, "Whoever else is out there might think they're Nathan, and maybe with shape-shifting they look like Nathan, but they aren't Nathan."

"He's Nathan, as much as he is anyone else," Sylar responded. He summoned a dish towel from the kitchen using telekinesis, then used it to dust the clock off. Being at the top of the shelves, it hadn't been dusted on the top or back. He took care to clean it properly now. "You should go to him. I'm sure he'd like to see his little brother."

Peter's voice was thick with sudden emotion - whether grief or wrath, Sylar couldn't quite tell. Peter got out, "You're being cruel."

"Am I?" Sylar looked up at him, eyes intent. He supposed Peter was right, but he didn't care. "I thought I was only pointing out the obvious. You have your brother now. That's what you wanted all along. You can have him, and I can go on my way."  _Once I figure out where that is._

"I want  _ **you**_ ," Peter said, and now Sylar was a bit clearer that it was sadness in his voice.

"Peter," Sylar said softly, having an idea of how sharp the knife was that he was using to slice into Peter's heart, "I don't want  _ **you**_."

Peter's hands balled into fists and his eyes shut tightly. Sylar rose, taking the mantel clock with him. He felt a sick sort of satisfaction because for once, he wasn't conflicted and it really was that simple. He liked Peter, yeah, fine, hopefully they could be friends, but what Peter had with Gabriel was not something Sylar could share. Even though, he had to admit to feeling envy and longing for the lack of it now. He moved the clock onto the kitchen counter and pushed it to the backsplash. Hopefully it would be safe there, because he had the impression that Peter was about to explode.

"Sylar," Peter said with an effort at being calm, "I've known Nathan all my life. But the man I fell in love with, that I married, was  **not**  Nathan."

Sylar eyed him. "He was your brother. You couldn't marry him."

Peter exhaled heavily, staring at the table. "Nathan and I fucked, okay? We fooled around a lot. We loved each other as brothers. Maybe we loved each other more than that. But I never felt like I wanted to move in with him, wake up next to him as often as possible, felt my heart jump whenever I saw him, and felt like there's almost nothing better in the world than him smiling at me." He held up his left arm, showing the watch that he wore, the mate of the one on Sylar's arm. "I never let him call me  _his_. I never let him change my life. I never let him change  _ **me**_."

Sylar frowned, not sure what to do with the guilt that was surging around in his chest, making him uneasy and nauseated. He wanted to take his watch back from Peter's arm, but at the same time he could remember how thrilled he'd been to see it there the first time, how taken aback and startled, how his own heart had leapt and he'd wanted to go to his knees in gratitude. His face pinched with unhappiness. He was upset because he didn't think he deserved the emotional pains he was feeling. He just wanted things to be simple. He wanted the world to be a mechanism that he could put to rights as easily as the mantel clock. He wanted to stalk out and leave this all behind, but to go where and do what? What he'd found here in this weird, fucked up family he'd joined was a sense of belonging, support and of being loved that he'd never had anywhere else. He was reluctant to leave that.

Things would be so much easier for Peter if he just took Nathan and ignored Sylar, but here he was fighting and arguing for Sylar to stay. Sylar was wanted. Someone thought he was special. His shoulders sagged a little and he looked down, brows peaked in an expression of disappointment because he didn't think this could possibly work out. Not as he was. "I'm not part of your family anymore, Peter."

Peter turned towards him quickly, a little too fast and Sylar's hand flew upwards, making it about halfway to an attack before realizing Peter was only posturing. Peter looked at that hand. Sylar let it drop. Peter's eyes went back up to his. "You are, too. You have a  **son**."

 _Sons_ , his mind provided traitorously, as he remembered his strange pride and sense of self-worth from being a good father to Nathan's boys. "Nathan …" He breathed out unsteadily because he didn't like what he was about to suggest. "Nathan can take care of him just like I took care of his boys."

Peter's eyes narrowed in anger. "You have a  **wife**."

"Heidi … she has Nathan now."

Peter stood, bristling with rage. "She married  _ **YOU!**_ "

Sylar resisted the urge to flinch and instead glowered threateningly, pulling himself back up to his full height.

Not that Peter seemed at all impressed by that. Peter stabbed a finger at him, repeating, "She married  **you** , because she knew you were  **not**  Nathan! She knew you were different. She knew it!" He took a threatening step closer and added, "And you know what? You've been a damn better husband to her than Nathan ever was. You do  **not**  get to walk out on me, or her, or Monty or Simon or Noah. You  _ **don't**_ , Sylar."

Sylar was doing his best not to cringe back, because oh shit was Peter ever intimidating. He was scaring the shit out of him and Sylar suddenly recalled all those people Peter had put off just by looking at them in annoyance. He'd never looked at Sylar like this - furious, righteous indignation that looked to be a whisper away from action. Sylar didn't even know what that action was and it didn't matter - his subconscious told him it would be whatever was worst, because that's how Peter's power worked anymore.

Peter put out his left hand, palm upward, clearly asking for Sylar to take his hand. "We're going to Heidi's to find Nathan. You're coming with me. We're going to put a stop to this."

Sylar looked at that hand and hesitated.

XXX

He let Peter teleport him into the Petrelli mansion. Sylar knew he was walking into his death, or at least an oblivion that amounted to death. He wondered if Peter saw it that way, or realized what he was asking of Sylar. He didn't think Peter did. Peter had always been a little … oblivious. Odd, really, for an empath, but Peter often seemed unaware of the impact his actions would have on others - flinging himself off buildings, asking teenage girls to shoot him, that whole weird traveling back in time and shooting Nathan thing (Sylar supposed even future-Peter wasn't immune to Peter's basic flaws), and of course the way he'd treated Sylar.

It wasn't something that could be blamed off on the limited form of Peter's ability, because he'd had it before, back when he'd had the full-powered version, too. Sylar, for all his callousness, generally seemed more aware of how people could be hurt than Peter was, even if the killer didn't often care. Peter cared - he just didn't always  _notice_.

They'd teleported into the study. Sylar took a moment to admire the lovely skeleton clock over the door. It had previously graced the wall of Nathan's office at the law firm. Peter didn't spare it a look as he headed out, though he did at least glance back to see if Sylar was coming.  _Yes, of course, Peter. I'm tagging along. I wouldn't have let you bring me here if I hadn't already made up my mind._

There were things that were worth dying for. Love was one of them, Sylar felt. Not that he loved Peter, nor did he think Peter would love him as he was. There wasn't much point to Peter  **trying**  to love him as he was - maybe they could be friends, but that was it. No, it was  _Gabriel's_  love for Peter that Sylar was willing to die for, and more distantly, willing to allow his death for Peter's love of Gabriel. Even though he'd never really met this 'Gabriel' person, though he was of course aware he was a constituent personality. It seemed like a worthwhile way to go, all things considered.

There would be no love between Peter and Nathan the way Peter had confessed to loving Gabriel. They couldn't even play at it and be discreet - not if Peter wouldn't accept Nathan as Nathan, and insisted on seeing him as a facsimile or an incomplete replacement. His brother was dead to him, really dead to him, which was a very interesting thing for Sylar to find out. This other Nathan would not do and so if Sylar did not sacrifice himself, then they'd  _both_  be doomed to lives of misery.

"Heidi?" Peter called out as he exited the hallway.

"Peter?" she answered as she came out of the kitchen, giving him a concerned look. He was supposed to be at work. Then, of course, her eyes went past him to Sylar. She was always so startlingly perceptive. She knew he wasn't her husband, nor even the Sylar she knew from before, the second she saw him. She started to say something, then just sagged a bit against the doorframe as if tired.

"Are you okay?" Peter went to her. Sylar wandered into the den, looking around at all the familiar things. He was the one out of place.  _Odd, considering I've been living here for a couple years._

"In a different life," Heidi said slowly, "I should scream in terror and make a big scene, but," she sighed, "I don't think that would do any good. You know he's not him, right?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I know. You know yesterday he was going to get cloning?"

"Yes. He told me over dinner that it worked." Heidi pitched her voice to make it clear she was talking to Sylar. It was something of an accusation.

"It did, obviously," Sylar chimed in from near the shelves, where he was peering at a miniature bride and groom, carefully protected from dust under a bell jar. It had topped Gabriel and Heidi's rather conservative cake.

"I suppose," she said, "you haven't been up on the balcony, then?"

Peter glanced up the stairs. "No. Why?"

"Well … I saw Nathan up there, but he was staying outside, so I let him be. I didn't get a very good look at him, which must have been intentional on his part. I came down here and made some tea."

Peter said, "Okay. Thank you. That answers my next question, which is where Nathan is." His phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at it, grimacing. "It's my work," he grumbled, answering it.

Sylar waited until Peter was wandering back down the hall, one hand combing through his hair while the other held the phone to his ear, making excuses. Then Sylar headed up the stairs to take matters into his own hands. Heidi followed quietly behind him. He tapped on the glass. Nathan looked back at him and scowled. Sylar lifted his brows and tilted his head. He was clearly asking, though what he was asking was probably unclear, other than permission to be in Nathan's presence. After a few seconds, Nathan made a curt hand signal and turned away.

Sylar opened the door and slipped out. He didn't stop Heidi from following, but he didn't invite her, either. She came outside anyway. Sylar walked over to the balcony, on the opposite end from Nathan. He toyed momentarily with forcing their union, but it required Nathan's cooperation. He knew that. Gabe had tried the same thing the night before, with a different 'Sylar'.

"Peter's downstairs," Sylar said.

"I gathered," Nathan returned. "Why are  **you**  here?"

"Peter brought me."

"And now you do what Peter wants, is that it?"

"When he's right."

"What's he right about?"

"He knows who he loves and it's not me and it's not you."

Nathan glanced over at him. "I'm his  _ **brother**_."

"True." Sylar leaned on the railing. "He tells me you're dead and he wants the man he married. Not you. Not me."

Heidi made an inarticulate noise. Both men looked back at her. She shook her head, refusing to make her thoughts any more verbal than that.

Nathan glared briefly at Sylar. "I was afraid of that."

"Hm."

"This isn't going to work out. That's what I've been thinking about, why I came here instead of going to Peter's work."

"No, it's not going to work out."

Nathan sighed. He reached up and scratched at his chin. "I thought this was my chance," he said wistfully.

Sylar glanced back at Heidi, at the door, where he could hear Peter's feet rattling up the stairs quickly.  _He could have teleported. It would have been faster. Or flew. Oh, Peter, you amuse me so._  Peter let himself onto the balcony, but Heidi shushed him and seized his arm, making him stay with her next to the door. She at least realized this was something for Sylar and Nathan to work out themselves. No one else could force it, but they sure as hell could fuck it up.

"Perhaps it was," Sylar offered.

"So that's that, huh?" Nathan said.

"I guess so. Are you ready?"

"Almost." Nathan gave Sylar a smug grin. "This might be the end for me, but you do know that you'll  **never**  escape me."

"Of course." Sylar gave him a sneering look in return. "I think about that every time I fuck your wife, or your brother."

Everyone but Sylar responded - Heidi by gasping like a fish, Peter by yelping, "What?" and Nathan by snarling and closing the distance between them to throttle Sylar. He must not have gotten that good a grasp, though, because Sylar had one more thing to say: "If it wasn't for you, ng, I wouldn't be fucking anyone."

Nathan hesitated, his grip slackening. There were two possible ways to interpret that sentence - Sylar meant both of them and Nathan knew that. "You wouldn't be fucking anyone at all, you piece of shit. You're  _nothing!_ " Nathan released him, starting to back up, lip curling in disgust.

Sylar's hand reached out and seized Nathan's shirt, jerking him in. "I'm  _ **you**_." There was a ripple in the air and only one stood before Peter and Heidi.

Gabriel stared at them like a frightened deer for a moment, then began to look embarrassed. He racked his considerable brain for the appropriate comment to cover his bizarre behavior - splitting into two people, arguing with and insulting himself, stirring up his lovers. He couldn't think of one. "I'm sorry I'm so crazy," he offered.

Heidi burst out laughing and ran over to hug him without restraint. He hugged her back, burying his face in her hair, eyes shut for a moment. He opened them after a deep inhalation to eye Peter, who had walked up more slowly and clapped him on the shoulder.

"You going to be alright?" Peter asked. Gabriel nodded mutely, still feeling ashamed of himself for losing control and letting too much of the crazy out of the box. Peter smiled tolerantly. "You got this, Heidi?"

"Yes, I do," she said, pulling back a little from the hug, turning so she still had an arm behind Gabriel's back. "Do you want to have some tea with us?" she asked Peter.

He shook his head. "No, I gotta get to work." Looking to Gabriel, he said, "I'll see you tonight. Make sure it's just the one of you this time, okay?"

He wanted to say something snippy about knowing how to use his powers, but it seemed wiser to just keep his mouth shut. He nodded silently again. Peter clapped him on the shoulder once more and stepped away to teleport off.

Heidi tightened her arm around him in a brief squeeze. "So, you can be two guys at once, huh?"


	3. Double Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel continues to toy with his latest ability, a modified version of cloning where he can create a single clone.

Gabriel looked into his own eyes, still working out how this power of limited cloning worked. There were two of them sitting on the couch, facing one another, identical in all respects this time around. It had seemed only prudent, of course, that he work out the 'kinks' of the power before subjecting his family to any more outbursts.

Both of them leaned back just a little at the same time. Gabriel, due to the positioning of the cushions, was a tiny bit lower than his double. That small difference was important. He straightened to be taller and that shift in body language provoked the other to slap him, fast and hard. He fell back and froze, eyes wide and nostrils flaring as he assessed the threat and decided to leave abilities out of it. Otherwise, the apartment would be trashed. The aggressor, after the briefest pause (probably thinking exactly the same thing), swung again. Gabriel dodged and came up, grappling, and bore his attacker to the floor where he landed with a sharp exhalation.

Gabriel balled his fist and struck his foe, who let out an, "Oh!" and a pained groan at the direct blow. He gave no other resistance, lying limp on the floor and gazing up, bleeding mouth slightly open. Apparently, in addition to deciding not to use active abilities, his double had turned off the more passive ones like regeneration as well. Gabriel followed suit as lust bloomed for both of them. Gabriel felt the surge to his groin, completely triggered by the wanton, receptive expression of the man below him. He hesitated, fist half-raised in threat, but there was no provocation. Instead, the other tilted his head back, baring his throat. Gabriel reached for it, long fingers sliding around soft vulnerability, evoking a low moan from his victim and another electric twitch from Gabriel's filling cock.

"This isn't fair," Gabriel grumbled, scooting back a little for better positioning, groin to groin as he crouched over him. "I want to be  _you_."

"You shouldn't have hit me, then." The man under him pressed up and ground into him with a smug expression on his upturned face. He licked his lip, smearing the blood, knowing what effect that would have. "You can go next."

Arousal, jealousy, and desire spiraled up fast inside of Gabriel. Heart hammering, he snarled, "I want to go  _first!_ " His fingers tightened around the neck, digging into the tender flesh. The other man whined and squirmed, hands seizing Gabriel's thighs, gripping him but not resisting. Gabriel slapped him, hard, then released his neck to bury fingers in hair, jerking his head around. "Fuck me!" he demanded.

"If you ask nicely," the other managed to snark, grinding up into him again and thoroughly getting off on the treatment.

"Fuck that!" He opened his pants, then rolled off to the side to shove them off along with his shoes. His opposite number sat up slowly, wiping at his mouth, lids heavy. The double pulled off his shirt and cast it aside as Gabriel got to his feet. He grabbed him by the hair again, pulling his face to Gabriel's turgid organ. "Open."

"Still not polite," the other challenged, refusing to open his mouth more than the bare minimum needed to speak, lips moving against his cockhead so tantalizingly.

Gabriel backed up a little and hit him again and then again, open-handed slaps to the face and the side of the head as he held the man by the hair. The shock and pain was enough to make his victim gasp and struggle, hands coming up to defend himself despite his desire to be hurt. Gabriel shoved his back against the couch, putting one of his own knees on the cushion, and leaned his groin in. With one hand still holding him by the hair, the other found the point in the side of the face over the jaw, thumb pressing in and forcing it open. He pulled him to his cock.

It slipped inside a willing mouth, tongue licking at his shaft as it slid within. Gabriel stopped holding open the jaw and moved that hand to the back of the neck, stroking it gently in a small show of gratitude. He knew how this would play out, what danger he was and was not in, because he knew his double had the same thoughts and mind that he did. He wouldn't bite – not once he'd been overpowered, and even being overpowered was something he'd basically allow if he thought he deserved it. What he deserved at the moment was to be choked with Gabriel's cock. There was no condom this time to protect him from the fluids. None of Peter Petrelli's over-careful concessions. He would have secretly loved it if Peter would have held him down and done  _this_  to him.

He rammed his cock in further, feeling the other man gag and buck beneath him. He kept it up until the signs of submission became frantic and uncalculating … authentic. He pulled out, stroking his saliva-covered organ as the other trembled and gasped, trying to hold down the heaves. Gabriel petted his head soothingly, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He had no apology. This was a necessary step to establish who was in charge and who wasn't. The other got himself under control and came back to him, licking eagerly around the sensitive flange of the head, then sucking the end into his mouth, tongue swirling on it.

Peter gave better blow jobs, Gabriel realized. That was irrelevant, though. This way he had his own sweet face looking up at him with rapt attention and adoration. He knew the double's brain had clicked over into the headspace of complete submission. The guy was flying and he would be to varying degrees for  _days_. The head trip of allowing (and surviving) such total domination would feed him endorphins for most of a week. Gabriel knew; he'd had it. There was no 'you next' involved. They'd merge after this. Next time they used the ability, they'd be all-new clones. Like he'd said, it wasn't fair.

But lots of things weren't fair. He could still get ridden well, even like this. His doppelganger was now greedily sucking him, hands on his ass cheeks as he swallowed him down to the best of his ability. "Open me," Gabriel purred.

The double obediently pulled off to spit on one hand, fingers exploring behind and probing into his cleft as his mouth returned to his dick. Gabriel spread his legs, one knee still on the couch. A wet finger touched his hole, provoking the usual involuntary constriction. He took off his shirt, tossing it over that of his companion, then ran his fingers through the other's hair, stroking and petting, caressing as he was serviced orally. His asshole was teased and tickled, prodded and prepared. He shuddered. He didn't want too much prep. Pain was something he sought for this – with it, he could at least catch a shadow of the other's high – maybe more if he could get the other to abuse him enough.

He pulled away, going to all fours on the floor and presenting himself. A practiced hand went to his crack and fingers probed at him again. His double bit one ass cheek, then kissed, kissing and licking a trail up his spine as the other slowly shifted into position. As the mouth reached his shoulder, Gabriel turned his head to look back. "Ride me hard."

Heavy-lidded, lust-dazed eyes just looked back at him. He felt the two fingers in his ass twist, stroking down over his prostate. The surge of pleasure sent him forward in supplication, ass up, head down, a moan torn from his throat. A moment later, the fingers withdrew. There was a teasing pressure as the precome-slicked head of the penis rubbed against his opening, finding just the right spot. Then it began. Another moan, almost a scream, was ripped from him as the other shoved into him in one brutal push, all the way in, friction dragging the whole way as his body resisted the intrusion. A hand came down between his shoulder blades, pushing him solidly to the floor as he began to thrust immediately.

At that, Gabriel did scream. He writhed and struggled in the ecstatic experience of pleasure-pain. His ass spasmed and his hands clenched and unclenched. His legs kicked and jerked to either side. He vocalized; he opened; he let go and surrendered to the violation. A harder push on his back pinned him to the floor. He whimpered as the anal assault sped up, the relaxing of his muscles allowing a faster pounding. The double's other hand was hooked into his hip, keeping him in position to receive. Gabriel wished only that he had someone giving him orders, dominating  _him_  in turn, but this was the best he could do alone. This was masturbation – violent, exciting, incredibly arousing masturbation.

The other gave it to him hard, as ordered. Gabriel moaned, limbs shaking as he let it all out. No one was here to see or care – no need to modify or moderate his performance. His ass was being plunged so vigorously that his legs shuddered and struggled to keep himself up enough to take the punishing thrusts. He could feel the tip of his cock bumping and sliding against the floor but he was powerless to help himself. He wanted attention there, but he, too, was losing himself in head space. He whined, begging inarticulately for release.

The other knew. Burying himself to the hilt, he cupped his body around Gabriel's, rocking his hips back and forth, buttocks flexing. Gabriel was so close. He jerked spasmodically with every brush and shift of the other's body. He was bitten on the shoulders and the back of the neck. One hand came down next to his face to steady the double while the other hand slipped under him. The clone's fingers played so gently, too gently, along his straining shaft. A cock was fully inside of him, stretching and filling him; a hand was teasing along his length, sadistic in how it absolutely refused to give him the intensity he needed.

Tears leaked from his eyes as he broken down and begged. "Please! Please!  _Please!_ " He gripped the wrist of his partner, his other hand reaching back to stroke fitfully at his knee. "Fuck … Oh God. Oh God ..." He was going to come anyway. He could feel it. Despite the other's hand giving him no more than tickles around the head of his dick, and the leisurely, rhythmic flexing of ass, driving the cock so slowly back and forth within him … he could feel the orgasm coming anyway. He could feel every blinding facet of it as his nerves lit up, his eyes rolled up in his head, and his cock swelled even more. The doppelganger wrapped his fist around it, around just the tip of it, and squeezed, jogging his hand up and down a little as Gabriel's whole body jerked with the force of his climax.

Everything went out of focus as he experienced pure rapture. Nothing important seemed to exist but his body and the blissful feelings coursing through it. He had merged again, he realized as he collapsed to the floor, lying there in his own sweat, come, tears, and drool. Minutes passed before he could do anything more elaborate than relearn how to breathe properly. He was getting cold. And yet the effort of getting to the bed seemed too much. His mind was still lost in the fugue of subspace. He was lonely and frightened. He wanted to withdraw and hide. He wanted help, but just like when he was getting fucked, it seemed antithetical to take action himself. He had to, though. After more long minutes, he extended his hand, finding enough concentration to summon pants to him. He found his phone in the pocket and pressed the right buttons. He held the device against his damp brow as it rang. Only one ring, because  _this_ time, Gabriel had had enough sense to alert Peter and Heidi to his experimentation beforehand. Though he hadn't expected it to go straight to sex. Honestly, him and his filthy mind.

"Hello?"

"Come … to ..." He couldn't think of the word for apartment. "Wrrr. Me?"

There was not even an acknowledgement before Peter popped into existence a few feet away.

"Gabriel!" Peter hurried to him.

He slumped, dropping the phone. It began to beep.

Peter glanced over his nude form, turning him over gently. "Gabe?"

Gabriel made a deep sigh of contentment as his fears and loneliness faded. Peter was here. Someone who loved him was here. It was all better now. Peter would take care of him. All was right with the world. "Bed, please?" He reached out for Peter languorously, infinitely pleased when he was gathered in and teleported to the bed a moment later.

Peter settled him in under the covers, leaving only to stop the phone from beeping annoyingly in the background. He returned immediately. "Are you okay?"

Gabriel smiled sloppily at him. "Get in bed with me. Cuddle. Fuck me later. I'm … I'm great. Greatest ability ever. I love it. I love you. I might even love me." He felt stoned and he knew his words were coming out somewhat slurred. He felt fantastic – thoroughly and naturally high. He determinedly left his abilities turned off, wanting to hold onto this for as long as possible and fearing that regeneration might purge the sensation and normalize the hormones flooding his bloodstream.

Peter grinned suddenly, straightening. "I love you, too. The emotions coming off of you are  _incredible_." He started getting undressed, shaking his head slightly. Gabriel watched him with a sappy grin that only broadened when his husband climbed in bed with him. Gabriel snuggled up, so happy.

"I love you," Peter whispered.

All was right with the world.


End file.
